


I Owe Him a Debt

by Silent_journey



Series: Avengers and Affliates [3]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Incredible Hulk (2008)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-21 21:29:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 21,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14923175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silent_journey/pseuds/Silent_journey
Summary: Natasha Romanov always did her best work with the help of illusions. Like the illusion that women were weak, fragile creatures. She could make a mark believe it was true right up until she broke his nose...or arm....or neck.SHIELD was gone and Natasha had to make her own calls. But what she had told Loki that day on the Helicarrier was still true: She owed Clint Barton a debt. Problem was he wasn't the only damaged man in her life. A certain green-tinted doctor was creeping his way in as well.Companion story to Irreverence Is My Superpower. The two will overlap, but this does stand alone.





	1. Chapter 1

That Time in Paris

 

"I know you're not dead," the male voice called conversationally from the second story fire escape. Laying face down on the brick of the alleyway, red hair haloed around her, Natalia Romanova made no response. Blood was seeping sluggishly from the gash on her leg where the archer had tried to hamstring her, but there was no other movement.

"And I know you're not injured," the man continued. "It was a good fall, but you landed far too gracefully to be injured. At least not seriously. Nice move, by the way,” he complimented offhandedly. He spoke English, but his voice had the barest trace of accent though Natalia couldn't place it. Possibly a dialect. Definitely not Russian.

"You could try to take me," he offered, in a way that sounded more like he was offering her a drink rather than another round in this cat and mouse game. "But you're down to your auxiliary weapons. Which you can’t reach before I put an arrow through your heart." He had to have been watching her for some time to know her weapons count. She was vaguely impressed.

Natalia knew when to play a bluff to the bitter end. She also knew when to fold. Slowly, so as not to end up a pin cushion, she rolled over and looked up at him. His face was a study of concentration, gaze intently focused on her beneath his dirty blonde hair. Though he wore black as she did, purple accents ran over the fabric giving it personality. His arms were bare, giving him ample room for maneuvering his chosen weapon she assumed, though she could appreciate the aesthetic of muscle revealed either way.

"Are you always this chatty with your marks, cupid?" Her tone was light, breezy. As if they were meeting at an outdoor table at one of the Parisian cafes, instead of this back alley.

He huffed a laugh. "Not particularly." The bow lowered by an infinitesimal margin, but she saw it. "Conversations are usually minimal in this line of work. Wouldn't you say?" His tone matched hers. Friendly, on the cusp of flirting. The same dance as any attractive strangers who were meeting for the first time.

It almost made her smile. She felt her lips twitch at the corner of their own accord. Huh. She didn't feel so bad about being outmaneuvered now. If he was extraordinary enough to make Black Widow smile he was probably worthy to make the kill.

"I have found that to be true," she gave in response. Turning her face up to the hazy night sky, she waited. She didn't fear death anymore than she feared crossing the street. Let it come.

"Interested in more?"

Her eyes snapped back to his, surprised. Even across the distance she could read him, as if she had been studying him for weeks. As if she had known him before he had pierced her shoulder with that first arrow. There was emotion she didn't understand in his expression. But she could feel some echo of it in her own gut. Understanding, kinship. Like drawn to like. It made her question her resolve to die by his hand. It made her want to push him away.

There had not been even that ghost of humanity in her for longer than she could remember. Emotions were dangerous things. Especially for someone like her.

"Are you offering a new collar? A new master to answer to," she asked, though her voice lacked it's usually cutting bite. She was wavering.

His dark chuckle was more than likely meant to be intimidating, but she could hear the genuine laughter underneath.

"Nah. Not really my style. I do know a guy who can help with redemption though."

There was a choice to be made here. She could die tonight if she refused him. Or she could go with him, play his game until an opportunity arose for escape.

Or she could take what he offered. She hadn't asked for it. Had never expected it. But maybe whatever phantoms of feeling were left in her had been seeking this.

The fact that she was even pondering the third option told her she had already made a decision.

Natalia closed her eyes and let her body relax, muscle by muscle.

She gave him no verbal response, though he seemed to read her surrender. He scraped his feet on the steps of the fire escape as he descended, giving her the courtesy of letting her know he approached. "Hey, boss," he said, obviously to whoever was on the other end of his comm. "Ready for a pick-up. And I'm bringing an extra body."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.... I'm starting to post this now because it explains where Clint and Natasha have been this whole time. It will also give some deeper glimpses into not only Natasha and Clint, but Phil and Bruce as well. Hopefully you all enjoy it!!
> 
> Comments make my little black heart flutter!! :)


	2. Graveside

Natasha Romanov had always done her best work with the help of illusions. Like the illusion that women were weak, fragile creatures. She could make a mark believe it was true right up until she broke his nose...or arm....or neck.

But standing in front of the simple gravestone, she had to admit that even she had learned a few tricks from _the_ spy among spies, Nicholas J. Fury. The engraving on the stone held the beginnings of his favorite verse Ezekiel 25:17. “The path of the righteous man…” it said, though the rest of verse spoke more to the vengeance and wrath that would follow those who dared to strike down good men.

It was a warning. In Fury’s own convoluted style. 

Said man was looking well for being deceased. One arm was in a sling, he stood before her and tried to coax her into helping him pick up the pieces of the broken SHIELD, the organization that had been her home since she had been brought in from the cold all those years ago. The organization she had helped to bring crashing down. 

However, Natasha had another item on her agenda. One that even Fury, for all that he had been her mentor and friend, was not privy to.

He only asked once, taking her no as definitive. 

Natasha was certain that Fury thought he knew her reasons. As a man who had layers upon layers of secrets, he had always been in a unique position to understand her. Thus he assumed that with her secrets bared to the world, she needed to step back and regroup. 

While that was certainly true, she felt no urge to enlighten him to the real reason she refused. 

There were other broken things that needed picking up.

When she gave her goodbyes to the ex-Director, he had given her a fierce smile. “Wherever you’re headed Romanov, I know you’re going to get into trouble eventually.” 

A smirk graced her lips at that. “Most definitely.”

Fury snorted a breath of laughter. “If you get too deep, you know you can give me a call.”

The smirk fell from her face abruptly. They had history, and nothing could erase that, but he had stretched her trust too far with the games he had played recently. “I won’t be calling.” 

When she stalked away, he made no attempt to follow.

Before the Avengers, before Strike Team Delta, before SHIELD, loyalty for Natasha had only lasted as long as it was beneficial. It had been easy for her back then to shed her loyalties as it was to shed her covers, as easy as wiping away her makeup. After...after having Barton bring her into the fold, after Coulson became her moral compass, her loyalties had become unshakable. She was willing to do most anything for the few people that fell under the heading of trusted. But Fury had removed himself from that list. He was still an ally, and thus safe from any retribution she might visit on an enemy, which was why he was continuing to breathe and not filling that empty grave.

She waited only a few yards away. Far enough that she didn’t intrude on the interplay between Nick and the other visitors to his graveside: Sam Wilson and Steve Rogers. Aka Falcon and Captain America. 

Two men who were on that very short list of people she trusted.

Strange how in only a few days time, her trust had shifted so completely. Only weeks ago, before the world had learned that Hydra had survived WWII and infiltrated every level of the organization that was supposed to defend against it, she would have followed Fury’s lead near blindly. Now, she had cashed in significant favors in order to gain a slim file about a man that had shot her three separate times, only because Steve had looked at her with that hangdog expression of his.

Rogers had gotten her to do a lot of things she never would have contemplated before.

He was a man out of his time. A soldier lost in the modern era and searching for orders to follow. He had put his trust in Fury and SHIELD after they had pulled him from his seventy year sleep in the ice. A decision he certainly regretted now. 

It had been Rogers who led the strike on Hydra back in the 1940’s. It had been fitting, somehow, that he had also led the charge in this modern era.

Fury turned away from the two men and made his way toward the car waiting for him. Before he was out of sight, he tossed her one last glance over his shoulder. She met the look with a blank face and jut of her chin. Nothing he did would sway her decision this time.

She stepped forward with a smile for Steve and a sarcastic remark. “You should be honored. That’s about as close as he gets to saying thank you.”

Ever the gentleman, Steve stepped toward her to meet in the middle. “Not going with him,” he questioned.

“No. And I’m not staying here. I blew all my covers. I’ve got to go figure out a new one.” It was the truth. At least one of them. 

Her face was plastered over social media and news stations around the world, thanks to her own information dump and the consequent Congressional hearings. It had been a bold move to plaster the entire (well almost - some things were better never to be seen) SHIELD database over the internet. One she never would have made before partnering with Steve. 

Pre-Captain America, Natasha would have done nearly anything to keep her own secrets. The built blonde had changed her mind with his earnest dedication to his ideals. With his world crumbling around him for the second time, Steve had stood his ground and demanded that SHIELD be dismantled alongside Hydra. Not even Fury had been able to deny him.

“It might take awhile,” Steve responded. 

Natasha only smiled wider. “I’m counting on it.” She paused, searching his face. For what, even she wasn’t sure. “That thing you asked for,” she held out the file that hadn’t left her sight for the last 48 hours, “I called in a few favors from Kiev.”

He took the file with steady hands, but the way he stared told Natasha that he wasn’t as calm as he was trying to portray. A muscle ticked along his jaw from how tightly he held himself. Reaching for something to distract him, she tried a hand at her their old game. “Will you do me a favor?” He looked up. “Call Sharon. She’s nice.” His eyes lost that desperate edge as he smiled.

Her countless tries to set him up had become almost a joke between them, though she had been serious about the attempts. Sharon had been the only woman Steve had even tried to go after, though that had been before he learned she was an undercover agent placed as his neighbor to keep an eye on him.

He didn’t reply, but after only seconds she could see the smile beginning to fade, his fingers tightening on the paper in his hands. He definitely wasn’t going to pursue things with Sharon.

Natasha sighed softly to herself and leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek in farewell.

She began to walk away. Only a few steps in, she turned back to give him a warning. For both their sakes. 

The man in that file, James Buchanan Barnes, wasn’t the same man Steve had grown up with. Nor was he the Winter Soldier, the man who had helped train her somewhere in her murky past. He was something of both, and yet less. 

“Be careful, Steve. You might not want to pull on that thread.”

The determination that settled over his features only confirmed what she already knew: he wouldn’t heed her advice.

She continued on, leaving Steve and Sam to their journey down the rabbit hole. She might have offered to help if there hadn’t been that pressing item on her agenda. As it was, she needed to disappear for a while. 

Exiting the cemetery on foot, she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. Someone was following. From the lack of skill she could assume it was CIA or FBI or one of the other alphabet agencies. Not anyone who had been trained by SHIELD. Certainly not anyone who was on her level. 

A playful smile touched her lips. This was the kind of game she liked. The kind she was good at. 

Turning to the nearest watcher, she winked and blew a kiss. It was a taunt. A dare. Catch me if you can.


	3. The Farmhouse

There was a dark smudge of makeup on her cheek. A false bruise to complete the illusion she was currently wearing. Today the infamous Black Widow was an average woman on a cross country road trip to find herself after a bad breakup with an abusive ex. 

Her hands tightened on the steering wheel in protest of the thought, but she forcibly relaxed her grip. Illusions were _her_ weapon. Though these days there were times she had to remind herself of that.   

Glancing in the side mirror, she checked to make sure another tail hadn’t come up from behind. The freeway was packed with minivans full of vacationing families, businessmen with suits hanging in dry cleaning bags in the back windows, and a caravan of tractor-trailers pulling their hauls. No one suspicious. Not that she really expected to see anything at this point. She was secure in her skills. 

Tapping the brakes, she carefully made her way to the off-ramp in the green compact she had liberated from valet parking in the Dallas airport several hours ago. Pulling into a crowded discount department store, she found a secluded space and waited.

She wasn’t quite off the grid yet. 

Leaning back against the seat, she debated her next step. She needed the right pawn. She already had the right bait. A nice car like this already looked out of place in this neighborhood.   

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a group of young men. They were no threat to her, but the woman she was playing would have eyed them cautiously. One of them, a tall wiry man with a crooked nose and ratish features, gave a cocky grin in her direction after taking note of her and her car. 

Perfect.  

Once the group was inside, she nonchalantly stepped out of the vehicle, tossing the keys on top of the laptop on the front seat before grabbing her purse and heading into the store. The vehicle was sure to be gone before she even finished picking out the right shade of lipstick.

She had been avoiding her stashes. The ones SHIELD had known about and the ones they hadn't. She couldn't trust that they hadn't been compromised after the organization’s dismantling. It left her in need of supplies.

The dark wig she wore fell into her eyes as she adjusted the strap of her purse on her shoulder but she ignored it. The disguise was necessary.

After the battle of New York, when an alien army known as the Chitauri had invaded, there had been several images of her brandished around online. At the time, SHIELD had stepped in and squashed all information relating to her and Clint Barton, aka Hawkeye. With SHIELD’s fall, and her mass information dump, there had been no one to keep her out of the limelight.

The only positive note was that Clint hadn’t been involved in any of this. (He had been off the grid since the battle of New York, officially listed as inactive on SHIELD’s roster.) Otherwise the elaborate steps she had taken to remain undetected as she traveled would have been for nothing.

As she pushed her cart up and down the aisles looking for a snack (she had a way to go yet), she couldn’t help thinking about Barton. He was one third of her team, the other slot being filled by their handler, Phil Coulson. The two had been the first ties that linked her back to the rest of humanity. The first people to merit inclusion on her trusted list. The whole reason that list had come into being to begin with.

Her hand hovered over the Mike and Ike’s that both men favored. It was habit to grab a couple boxes whenever she saw them. Now, there wasn’t much point.

Coulson had been lost only hours before the battle of New York. He had died trying to prevent Loki, the general of the Chitauri invasion force, from escaping. In the aftermath of the battle, as they watched Thor transport his wayward brother home, she had stood beside Barton knowing she had yet to give him the news about Phil. His lover was gone.

Determined, she grabbed a single box of the candy, gently placing it in her cart. Maybe it would help with her current mission.

Natasha had known about the two of them. Yet it wasn’t because of her skill. Even though she often teased Clint for his lack of subtlety in most instances, he was as skilled as she. Only because they had trusted her enough had she known. 

They had been supremely discreet. She doubted if even Fury knew. Yet she had been ushered into their little circle. She had helped to keep their secret by playing up the sexual tension between herself and Barton. The act had  _not_ been a hardship. When Clint questioned why she would go that far, she had given him only a smile as an answer. The truth was because she still owed him.

Her debt to him would never be repaid. Not as far as she was concerned. Which was why when he attempted to disappear, she let him. Though she had made him promise to check in occasionally. He had kept that promise by going low-tech. Every few weeks, a letter with no return address would appear in a post office box she rented under an alias.   

Even without the return address, she knew where he went. He was good at stealth, but Phil had always been the Man With the Back-up Plan. The older man had told her of their little hideaway trusting that she would never break his confidence. 

His trust ensured her silence.

Which meant that when questioned by Fury about Clint’s whereabouts, she said nothing.

She knew the archer needed time, and eventually Fury had backed down in the face of her stubborn refusal to divulge his secrets. Loki had caused him to lose so much. It wasn't only about losing Coulson. It was about having been unmade, having a god in his head. Losing the free will he valued so much.

The people shopping around her would never understand. They could never imagine losing themselves that completely. To them, there would always be safety in their own thoughts. They would go about their lives never knowing the wrenching pain of being undone. Like the young cashier with her wide eyes and messy braid. 

Natasha knew the awed look the girl gave her was due to the wad of cash she had produced to pay her extensive bill. The girl likely thought that amount of money could fix all her problems. If she only knew what Natasha had done to earn it, she would rethink that opinion.

With Barton out of reach, Fury had given her double duty, babysitting the living legend Rogers and running Fury’s more shadowy missions. She obeyed one questionable order then another, all without protest. It took her down a slippery slope until she was Fury’s go-to for any morally ambiguous job. However, without her team to ground her, the space that had held her conscience slowly emptied again, like sand running out of an hourglass. Until she felt only breaths away from returning to the empty shell she had been before Phil and Clint.    

Steve had changed that. He had brought her back from the edge. He was more like her than the others realized, but where she was change colors and slide around a problem, Steve would barrel straight through like a battering ram. He was simple and solid, which somehow equated to naive and virginal in people’s minds. Natasha could see better than that.  

Eventually Steve had dug himself into that hollow space where her conscious should have been as he worked with her. She used him as a new compass to point her in the right direction.

With Captain America leading the charge, she had helped to disassemble everything that she had worked for over the last few years. However, the fall of SHIELD hadn't bothered her as much as having her secrets splashed over the internet. Regimes fell everyday. And just as she had once told Loki, she didn't weep over it.

The thought made her smile grimly as she adjusted the rear view mirror in the battered Jeep she had commandeered. She had picked it up after exiting the store with her purchases. The former owner had blared the horn and hung out the window cursing at an elderly man slowly making his way across the lane. Her gaze had narrowed on the asshole as he swung into a vacant spot. She was sure he wouldn’t mind having to walk home as he was so...energetic.

The Jeep bounced over a particularly deep rut on the dirt road she was navigating, jarring her slightly. No one was following her, though habit kept her checking. She had gone dark three states ago, tossing her phone out the car window as she sped down the highway. Watching her last point of contact shatter on the pavement had been satisfying in some way. Now there was no way to track her electronically. Everything she had on her, except her weapons, were new mediocre store bought brands. Nothing traceable, on the off chance someone had planted a tracker she wasn't aware of. (Chances of that were slim, but it was better to be prepared.)   

No one could know where she was headed.

The Jeep rounded a bend in the road and for the first time she was saw the little farm house.

It was charming really. The kind of place she would imagine for Clint. The blonde himself was nowhere to be seen, but she knew he had eyes on her. He was probably perched in one of the trees waiting to see who would exit the vehicle. No doubt, she had triggered some alarm on the way in. She hadn't been trying for stealth.

She pulled up to the house and parked beside the blue pick-up truck. Then slowly she pushed open the car door and stepped out.

She didn't bother to look around to try to spot him. Instead, she walked calmly over to the front steps and took a seat.

It only took a minute of waiting before Clint was striding up to her, his bow and quiver looking out of place when compared to his dusty jeans, work boots, and plaid sleeveless button-down shirt. He was the picture of country boy and it made her smile.

There was no hesitation as he sat down beside her, but he didn’t speak. 

She didn’t either, preferring to wait him out.

They were both stubborn. Neither looking anywhere but straight ahead. The silence stretched for nearly twenty minutes before she finally decided to take control of the situation. She knew he was still trying to find his balance and she didn’t want to push him. But if he couldn’t lead this dance then she would have to. She bumped him with her shoulder, keeping her eyes forward.

He bumped back harder but with a little laugh. “Alright, Nat. I’m done sulking.” He stood and turned to head into the house. She gave him a moment before following.

“So how long have you known I was here,” he asked, as he opened the door.

The interior was as charming as the outside. There was a small entrance hall where stairs led up further into the house. To the right was the main space. It was an open room design which encompassed the living room and dining room, the kitchen demarcated only by the small island. She could imagine him purchasing this place with a future in mind. Thinking that one day he would raise his children here, if he lived long enough.

She let her silence answer his question. 

He sighed and shook his head as he set his weaponry on the kitchen counter. “You’ve known all along.”

She gave a small shrug with one shoulder. “Someone had to know. I assumed you would prefer it being me over Fury or Hill.”

His grateful smile was all the thanks she needed.

“How long are you staying,” he asked, as he retrieved two beers from the fridge. “Not that I mind the company. I just figure Fury’s keeping you busy watching Rogers warm up to the current century.” He had heard that part of Fury’s plan to monitor Captain America before he had done his disappearing act.

She knew her face showed nothing. At least nothing a normal person would be able to read. But Barton could always read her. He handed her one of the open bottles the barest trace of concern on his face. She took it though she prefered hard liquor to this piss. “Did Rogers do something,” he queried a little brusquely, before taking a pull from the beer.

“No.” She took a long drag of the cold beverage before setting it down carefully on the end table. “There’s something I have to tell you.”

Clint froze. “Not real sure I want to hear it,” he said, trying to keep his tone even. The fisting of his free hand gave away his nerves. She understood his reaction. The last time she had given him that line, she had been delivering the news that Coulson was dead.

Staring at the dread in his hollow eyes, she suddenly didn’t know where to begin. “Fury’s alive,” she finally stated.

His eyebrow rose and his lips twitched, a spark of amusement lit in his gaze. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

She rolled her eyes but continued. “Fury’s alive but SHIELD is down.”

Shock and denial twisted his face at that. “SHIELD can’t be down,” he countered.

Stepping toward him, she grabbed the hand he’d clenched at his side. Drawing him over to the loveseat, she told him everything.

She told him about how she had become Steve’s partner. About the Lemurian Star mission, and Steve’s disappointment with her. She explained the appearance of the Winter Soldier and his true identity as one of the original Howling Commandos. She told him about Fury’s ‘death’, and smiled warmly at him when he squeezed her hand. He tensed beside her when she talked about Hydra and their plan to use the Helicarriers to shape the world in their image. 

When she finished her story, he leaned back into the cushions and his head falling over the back. She waited patiently, letting him absorb. It was a lot to take in.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he sighed explosively.

It made her smile. “That about sums it up.”

Abruptly he shoved off the couch and went to one of the kitchen cabinets. He returned with an unopened bottle of her favorite vodka. It spoke volumes that he would have it here already when he hadn’t been expecting her. Foregoing glasses he took a mouthful and handed her the bottle. She did the same.

While they passed the bottle, the sun began to sink. 

“What are you going to do now,” he asked softly, his face bathed in the fading orange tinged light.

“Whatever I want,” she returned easily, taking the bottle from his loose grip. He wasn’t drunk yet, but his eyes were a little detached meaning he was feeling the effects of the alcohol.

He smirked, his eyes sharpening on her momentarily. “You make it sound so easy.”

“Of course. It is easy,” she taunted as she shifted gracefully up onto one knee, setting the bottle to one side. He watched the movement warily, but did nothing to stop her when she leaned into his space. 

When their lips met it wasn’t the first time. They had played these roles before. For the mission. For deception. For distraction.

This time it was different. It wasn’t to provide cover. It wasn’t to create a believable atmosphere. There was no one on the other end of a comm line directing things. This was only for her. For them.

It wasn’t sweet. Nor innocent. But neither was she.

The kiss was feral in seconds. Her nails latching onto his bare shoulders. His hands tight on her hips and he dragged her onto his lap. 

Wrapping her legs around him, she ground down against him and he gave a moan in response. “You don’t have to do this, Nat,” he said with a harsh breath, misreading her intent.

She pulled back to show him the truth of her need on her face. “This isn’t only for you, Clint. I want this. If you don’t, I’ll stop.”

“No. Don’t stop,” he whimpered. She nuzzled at his neck and nipped sharply. His groan only spurred her on. 

They knew each other well. Their bodies knew how the other moved. It made them seamless in combat. Yet this felt new. She explored the muscles of his chest as she ripped open his buttoned shirt though she’d touched his skin before. Her nails raked down his pecs leaving behind red streaks on his skin. His body bowed toward her. An offering she couldn’t resist.

“Nat.” His voice was strangled. His hands stroked up her body, but she could feel his hesitation in the way his palms barely skimmed her as they slid up her torso.

She knew he was thinking of Phil. Of course he was. She took hold of his face with both hands, forcing him to meet her gaze squarely so he could see her lips. There would be no misunderstanding. “You don’t have to love me, Clint. Just let me take. Regret can wait til morning.”

The archer stilled beneath her when she mentioned love. She brushed her thumb over his bottom lip, hoping that he wouldn’t protest. His heart would always belong to Phil but hers had always been in his hands. 

His blue-green eyes were troubled but they fogged with desire as he leaned forward to initiate another kiss. His words were barely more than a whisper in the otherwise silent room. “Take what you want, Natasha.”

His surrender was sweet, and the dark beast inside her howled with victory. She knew he wouldn’t go back on his word, but she didn’t want to give him too much time to rethink this. She needed him. Always needed him.   

She attacked this time. Biting at his lip, while her deft fingers undid his belt buckle, she dragged him down with her. Down into the need and the heat and the passion. She drowned him in sensation until he was as wild as she was. Until there was nothing but this. 

Rolling from the couch, they hit the floor with a thud, but it barely even registered for either one of them.

Clothes ripped as they divulged each other of barriers. Weapons were tossed aside with more care, though nothing broke the frantic meld of their lips. Finally all that was left was skin and sweat.

Teeth bit, nails scratched, rough moans whispered the space between them. His hands pulled at her hair, bending her neck backwards for his tongue to find her pulse. Her hips ground against his, distracting him from his objective. 

It was as much combat as sex, but she knew who would win.

When she rose over him, knees pressing into the hardwood, her smile was savage. He tried to reach for her, but she grabbed his hands and forced them down before sliding onto his length. When he tried to thrust up to meet her movements, a growl of displeasure seeped from her throat.

He stilled, yielding to her. Letting her take what she wanted.

 

###

 

The moonlight found them in bed. Mostly. Clint’s head was pillowed on her thigh, with his legs hanging off the side. The sheets were torn in places and the pillows were missing. Apparently the bedding had not been up to the necessary standard for their night-time activities.

Looking down at his mussed hair, she knew there was so much more they needed to talk about. This idyllic retreat wouldn’t last. It couldn’t. He had to face the rest of his life. She hoped that she would be a large part of that life. 

For now, she would enjoy this small peace, off the grid and unreachable. She would take whatever Clint was willing to give. And she would weigh the options for her own future. No matter what, she would take care of Clint first. After all, she owed him a debt.


	4. Blue Ice and Black Void

Clint always came awake all at once. It was a throwback to the days of dodging his father’s fists, and the kicks from whichever carnie rousted him from his sleep. The skill had benefited him in in his career at SHIELD as well, though his career meant little now. 

He didn’t think Phil had ever really appreciated that particular habit. That man had needed coffee before he powered up all the way. There had been many mornings Clint had teased the older man about how those robot rumors would be solidified if any junior agents saw Coulson shambling through the kitchen to find his mug. Phil had never laughed (it had been far too early for verbal communication), but the corners of his eyes had crinkled beneath his bed head telling Clint he was amusing his lover.

He woke the same way now. 

For months now, he had woken alone, the jagged edges of nightmare chasing after him. The chill in the empty bed matching the chill in his soul from the blue haze he could never outrun. This time was different. He was warm. It was beneath his cheek, against his chest. Slim fingers twisted in his short hair, securing him. 

Natasha.

She was really here. Her small body radiating more heat than it seemingly should. She drove back the chill of the blue ice that impaled his mind and memories. God, he loved her. Part of him had always loved her, but loving Phil had eclipsed all else. His giving selfless nature blinding the archer to everything, like the glare of the sun throwing off his aim. Clint’s heart hadn’t been able focus on any other targets when Phil was near. He could see Natasha, standing patiently where she’d always been, now that the sun had set.

Phil was gone.

His heart wrenched, but this time the black void didn’t come to swallow him down. Natasha was here, anchoring him.

He slipped away from her carefully, gathering the blankets from the floor. As he crawled back in and got comfortable, he couldn’t help staring at her. She was his partner. They had saved each other countless times. He had brought her in from the cold, but he had never expected her to become such a big part of his life. A friend. A lover.

Settling in, he closed his eyes and found a vision of red behind his eyes. Blazing fire, glossy lips, bouncing curls. All red. He sunk into the memories. Tonight the red would hold back the black void and the blue ice. A circle of flames protecting him from the shadows.


	5. The Things You Miss

Bruce was feeling refreshed as Stark's private plane touched down at the small airfield outside New York. 

He didn’t enjoy flying all that much. Not when there was the potential for destruction if his alter ego decided to make an appearance and punch through the thin metal of the pressurized craft.

However, Tony had been unfailingly generous with his accommodations, and had insisted that Bruce use the jet when he wanted to spend some time at a secluded retreat. It had been nice to be disconnected...while not on the run from the government or General Ross. Or any of the dozens of other groups that wanted to study or kill him.

At first he’d had a moment of guilt about leaving for so long, especially when in the middle of a collaborative project, but then Thor had announced he was taking Jane on a tour of the Nine Realms and Pepper called Tony to demand he spend some time with her at his Malibu property. Of course, Stark declared that meant vacation time for everyone and insisted that Bruce take some time for himself. Since it had been what he wanted anyway, Bruce didn’t fight the engineer.

As the plane taxied up the runway closer to the hanger, the stewardess presented him with his duffle bag and a smile. On top of that bag prominently sat his phone (a Stark original). He had left it in the secure storage of the plane when he’d started his trip, knowing that he wouldn’t need it in a place that didn’t have any reception. The device came on at the press of his thumb, reading the print for security measures. Immediately a multitude of beeps filled the air, as the screen flashed with notifications.

A bit shocked, he started to cycle through the information. He hadn’t really expected there to be any messages. Had it been a true emergency in which the Hulk was needed, he had assumed that SHIELD would simply send a quinjet for him. They had been keeping tabs on him for years. He hardly expected them to stop now. 

Before he could even process the first text message, his phone was ringing in his hand.

It was Darcy. His neighbor, part-time lab assistant, and unbelievably his friend.

He slid his thumb over the device to answer the call.

“Hello?”

“Bruce! Jarvis said you turned your phone back on finally. Where are you? Are you coming home soon? Have you seen the news?” The young woman had a habit of letting her mouth get carried away with her, but this seemed like more than her usual flow of dialogue. There was almost a panicked edge to the tone.

“Slow down, Darcy,” he coaxed gently. “Take a breath.” It was a signal between them. One she was usually using on him to get him to calm down. Though he had to admit that there had only been two times he had even come close to losing control since he had moved into the Tower. Surprisingly enough, even with the force of nature that was Tony Stark living in close proximity, the Other Guy had been surprisingly calm, even if the beast felt closer to the surface than ever before.

She huffed then drew in an exaggerated breath before blowing it out. “There. See, I’m breathing. Totally good. Lungs at full capacity...or whatever. Now, let’s talk about you. Where are you?”

He smiled even as he brought up a hand to pinch at the peak of his nose. “I’m at the airport. I just got off the jet.”

“Perfect!” She had adjusted her tone now, and it sounded far too casual to be authentic. “And you’re in a place with lots of clearance right? Like, incase of a cameo from the Other Guy?”

“Darcy-”

“It's fine. Really. Everything is  _ completely _ fine. But, on the off chance it's not, I want to make sure you're not going to cause structural damage to anything."

"Hold on," he instructed as unbuckled from his seat. Darcy took the instruction seriously. As he exited the plane and made his way down the stairs, he could hear her humming the Jeopardy theme to herself. "Alright. Go ahead," he told her as he stood on the open runway.

"Okay. Good news first: Tony and Pepper are safe. They're back in Malibu. Jarvis says they'll be home in a couple days." Bruce wasn't sure how that was good news. When he had left eight weeks ago, the power couple had been in Malibu and perfectly safe. Obviously something had happened. Darcy didn't give him a chance to ask. "Other good news: Steve is  **not** dead. He's back at the Tower and he brought a new friend." 

"How-"

The young woman ran right over his attempted question. "Kinda good news: Tony rescued the president when he was kidnapped. And then may have blown up the majority of his suits in a romantic gesture to Pepper." Bruce could feel his heart rate starting to pick up. Apparently there was a  _ lot _ he had missed. "Bad news: there were a couple of terrorist attacks which prompted our resident billionaire to give out his home address on national television and consequently have missiles launched at it. Other bad news: Steve and his new friend may have completely destroyed SHIELD. Though that's sorta good news since it turns out Hydra, the Nazi freaks from World War II, were actually the ones in control over there."

She finally paused. "Bruce," she called tentatively.

He was having a hard time finding his words. He had only been gone for two months. A little intensive meditation retreat and part vacation. How the hell had things gone belly-up so quickly? And why hadn't anyone contacted him? True, he hadn’t taken his cell phone, but that had hardly stopped anyone from contacting him before.

"I'm assuming from the lack of majestic roars of rage that you haven't gone green. But can you give me a sign of life please?"

Bruce squeezed his eyes shut, but still gave a little chuckle. "I'm never allowed to go on vacation again, am I?"

Darcy sounded relieved to hear his voice. He could practically hear her bright smile through the phone. "I would say...no. At least you're never allowed to be without your cell  _ ever again _ . Seriously, you superheroes are the worst to try to contact. Don't make me resort to skywriting or something, ‘kay?"

“I’ll try to refrain from driving you that far,” he replied drily.

“Appreciate it. Now, there’s supposed to be a car waiting to bring you back. That is, if you aren’t feeling the need to go on a rampage and let off some steam.”

“No steam to let off,” he assured her. “A little confusion as to the details of what’s been happening while I’ve been away, but no sign of code green.”

“Excellent. Then get back here Doc. I’ve got a kitchen full of baked goods that need someone with a _ hulking _ appetite.” She put just the right amount of stress on the word to make it a joke shared between them rather than a dig at his condition. It was one of the many skills she possessed that had turned her from acquaintance to friend in his mind. “Plus you need to meet the new guy, Wilson. He’s very chill. You’ll like him.”

Bruce sighed, but opened his eyes to search for the waiting vehicle. He spotted it immediately. There was a driver and an a additional security guard both in dark blue suits which denoted that they worked for Stark Industries. “I see the car...” 

Darcy understood that there was a question in his pause. “Extra security was ordered when Tony did his ‘come and get me’ routine. Pepper let us know before things blew up...Literally.”

“That’s...good. I’ll see you soon,” he said to let her know he understood.

“See you later, alligator,” she echoed and disconnected the call.

Shaking his head, Bruce went to catch his ride.

The drive back to the Tower was pleasant enough, even in the traffic of New York. Bruce spent his time wading through the notifications on his phone. Most turned out to be text messages from Darcy. 

_ If you haven’t seen the news yet, don’t watch it around anyone else.  _

_ And call me! _

_ Don’t trust anyone who says they are SHIELD. I’ll explain if you call me. _

_ Seriously, how much meditation can you do, Doc? Call me! _

_ Okay, I’m really freaking out here and no one will answer their fucking phones. _

_ All of you are so grounded when you get home.  _

_ ….At this point, I’m assuming you’re just ignoring me. _

The timestamps on the first few messages were all close together, happening over the course of only a few hours. The last was a few days later, sent around 3 a.m., and even though it was impossible to convey tone through text message, Bruce could almost feel the fear-driven insomnia.

_ Please don’t be dead. _


	6. Domesticity

Breakfast was cooking in the kitchen, the smell of bacon frying and bread toasting floating up the stairs. Clint had obviously slipped out of bed before her. 

It was Natasha’s third morning at the farm. The first which he had left the bed before she’d been forced to...motivate him into moving. An activity that had left them both a bit more perky. 

She tossed her long bare legs over the side of the bed and curled her toes in the soft rug. The house, though simple, was designed with comfort while still keeping functionality and security in mind. When Phil had first told her about this place, he had mentioned that it was a place that could be completely self-sufficient. She had read between the lines and realized he was offering her a refuge should she ever need it. What he had failed to mention, however, was how charming it was.  

Sitting on the edge of the mattress, she stared out the wide second floor window and took in the low green hills. It was peaceful here. 

She hated to disturb that peace. 

For the last three days, Clint had been filling their conversations with every home improvement project under the sun. Before he’d drifted off the night before, he had explained how he wanted to add a breakfast nook off the kitchen. Natasha wasn’t even sure what a breakfast nook was. She had refrained from asking. He would have happily spent an hour explaining dimensions and materials and who knows what else. All of their conversations had been similarly superficial. They didn’t talk about Phil. They didn’t talk about Loki. They hardly even touched on the world beyond the dirt driveway. It left them few topics, but they were both comfortable with silence.

Natasha knew they couldn’t go on this way though. No matter if he wanted to or not, today she was going to discuss where they went from here.

She was tempted to keep the status quo. She had him, didn’t she? At night they wrapped around each other with abandon. In the day, she worked beside him while he completed projects and started others. His voice steady and comforting as he walked her through whatever task she was assisting him with. She could stay here, couldn’t she? She could stay and let herself be immersed in the this illusion of domestic bliss.

Her nails drummed on the sheet.

No. 

They couldn’t. 

The world may be at peace for the moment, but it wouldn’t stay like that. And she knew that if something happened Clint could have helped prevent he would never forgive himself. The same way he would never have forgiven himself if Loki had succeeded in making him kill her. The way he couldn’t forgive himself for the things he had done under the trickster god’s influence.

She, perhaps, was a bit more pragmatic. Or at least she had been until Steve had gotten under her skin. The living legend had torn her unshakable mask of confidence in two when he had admitted that he trusted her. It was possible that she would feel as much guilt as Clint now if an Avenger’s sized catastrophe happened and she failed to assist.

There were other reasons as well. Ones that were perhaps not as selfless. She wanted to be with Barton, wanted to see where this relationship might go. And she knew that they would start to rub each other the wrong way after too long in complete isolation. Benghazi, and the three weeks of idleness they’d been forced to endure, had been evidence of that. Though, she supposed, this time there would be less friendly fire between them since they would be relieving tension through bedroom acrobatics. An option that hadn’t been available on that fateful mission.

Finally getting to her feet, she wrapped a robe around herself and made her way down the stairs to the kitchen. She made no noise as she entered but she knew Clint knew she was there. Perhaps he’d seen her reflection in the gleaming appliances, or perhaps he simply felt when she was near the way she always recognized his presence. Some sixth sense that they had developed over countless times they had relied on each other to survive. 

“Good morning, beautiful,” he said in greeting.

Natasha rolled her eyes. He was a consummate flirt. Even before she had been brought into the very small circle of his friends, he had flirted with her. He did it easily, but not meaninglessly. He only said things he truly believed. It was a divide between them. She rarely said what she meant, covering truth and intention in layers of illusion, or saying nothing at all. Clint could play a part as well as she could, but he didn’t change his whole being to fit into it. He simply found the pieces he could connect to himself and slid the rest of his personality to the background until the objective was achieved.

She envied that in him. His innate ability to find his way back to himself, to know his true center at all times.

She knew now that part of that had been Phil’s stabilizing influence. It made her wonder if he was still trying to find his way back this time, since Phil hadn’t been there to anchor him after Loki had played with his mind. 

“Sit,” he instructed, nodding a head at the quaint country kitchen table. She took the two full glasses of orange juice off the counter and did so. Clint joined her, setting a full plate in front of her. He was good at breakfast foods, though his other culinary skills were limited and usually revolved around fried food. He didn’t feel that his skills were lacking in anyway as he claimed breakfast should never be confined to certain hours of the day.

As she took her first mouthful, she had to admit he was right. In their line of work they had spent quite a few hours in tiny twenty-four dinners that specialized in that particular meal. After all, it was hard to find someplace to eat when you got off an eighteen hour flight and you were still on Tokyo time while it was two a.m in D.C.

The only sounds were forks meeting plates, the crickets outside the window, and the wind.

Finally, Natasha set down her fork and leaned back in her chair casually. Clint’s eyes flew over her assessingly as he chewed. Slowly, he swallowed and set his own fork down. 

“Spit it out, Nat.”

“How long do you plan on staying here?”

He crossed his arms over his chest, his shoulder twitching in a shrug. “Indefinitely.”

She knew better than to rise to the bait of defensiveness in his tone. She remained relaxed and was careful to keep all judgment from her face.

He huffed, and uncrossed his arms to lean forward. “No one trusts me, Nat. Fury might have given me a second chance at SHIELD but that went all balls-up, didn’t it? I don’t want to have to go out there and dig through every agency who offers me a position to see if they either want my ass court martialed or are secretly a front for Hydra. Why can’t I just stay here? I’m not hurting anyone.”

“You’re not helping anyone either,” she said. She had always known the sharpest words to wound him. They felt like betrayal and left a sour aftertaste in her mouth. She wanted to give him anything he asked for, anything he wanted, but it was more important for him to hear the truth. He had to hear them now, before the guilt finally caught up to him. Phil would have known a better way to get through to him, a kinder way perhaps, to show him that he was needed outside the boundaries of his land. Phil would have been better for a lot of things Clint needed. But Phil wasn’t here and Natasha was determined to do the best she could.  

Clint stilled at her words. His face fell, morphing in anger, then closed down into the stoic mask he usually wore while on mission. He slammed his hands down on the tabletop and pushed back, tipping the chair over as he stood. Fists clenched at his sides, shoulders stiff, he stalked away.

When he was out of sight, Natasha rose with a sigh and gathered up the dishes. She righted the chair from the floor, and wiped up the crumbs on his side of the table. Her place was pristine.

At no point did she glance out the window. She knew Clint was out there, but he needed time to work through his emotions.

Climbing the stairs, she striped out of her robe and stood beneath the spray of the shower. The confrontation had been brief, but Clint was intelligent and he cared. His mind would worry at what she said. He would poke at it like a child at a loose tooth until finally an answer was shaken free. She simply had to have patience.

 

###

 

Six weeks later, Natasha was contemplating the various ways she could smother the archer as she watched him stomp away across the yard.

He wasn’t really stomping, his steps ever light as hers were, but he was pouting. A child in a man’s body.

She had tried breaching the topic of leaving several times. This time it had not gone well. Not that any of her other attempts had been particularly fruitful. 

Sighing (something she often felt the desire to do with Barton), she plucked three knives out of the wall above the couch. Retrieving the arrow from the fabric of the armchair, she fingered the fletching and admitted that he still needed more time.

The last weeks had been passed in a hazy domestic way that Natasha both enjoyed and was suspicious of. Yet she stayed, cut off from the world. Their only contact was Clint’s closest neighbor, Abraham, though several miles separated the two farms. The older man brought them supplies once a week. He never lingered unless Clint met him on the porch. If Clint wasn’t there waiting, the man would pile whatever he had brought on the front porch and amble back to his pickup. Natasha had stayed out of sight for every one of his visits. She didn’t want anyone to know she was here, even if Clint thought ‘Old Abe’ could be trusted.

Of course, the old man didn’t know Clint’s whole story. He thought that Clint was an ex-serviceman, who had been injured in the line of duty, losing the majority of his hearing. It was a believable cover and explained why Clint preferred the solitude and silence of the farm. Old Abe was happy to assist anyone who had fought for their country, as he was a veteran himself. He didn’t need to know that Clint’s service hadn’t been done while wearing fatigues. Or that his hearing had been lost long before he served his country.

She knew the story. Clint had told it to her one dark night in Saudi Arabia, when the chill of the desert had forced them close together for warmth since they couldn’t light a fire as it would reveal their location to the enemy. The loss had not been an accident, but it had ended his time in the circus and started him down the path to joining SHIELD.

When he had joined the agency, they had provided him with a tiny implant that compensated for the loss. Still, it wasn’t perfect. Some ranges were harder to pick up, and he sometimes had trouble following conversations if too many voices were involved. Of course, none of that slowed him down. He could read lips easily and he could bullshit his way through nearly every situation even without the implant’s assistance.

Though she knew SHIELD had been hiding Hydra like a solid wall hiding a nest of termites, she was grateful to the engineers for the help the implant had given him. It was benign in nature, unlike the enhancements the Red Room had given her which were meant only meant to assist in spreading mayhem.

Footsteps on the front steps brought her out of her thoughts.

Clint stood on the other side of the screen door watching her, as she continued to idly finger the fletching of the arrows in her hand.

“If I come in, are you going to stab me?”

She smirked. “Not today, Barton. Not unless you ask nicely.”

He graced her with that signature grin, the one that had gotten him out of hot water numerous times, before he pushed open the door. “I’m sorry, Nat. I know you’re only trying to help.”

Tossing him the arrow gently showed there were no hard feelings. After he snatched it out of the air, he stalked closer and gave her a soft kiss. His tongue swept over the crease of her lips and she relented, opening for him. The moan he gave as he dipped into her was low and rough and begged for more.

She was happy to oblige.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those actually trying to keep up with the timeline, the second section happens about the time that Tony is having his Malibu house blown up. 
> 
> Comments make my little black heart flutter!! :)


	7. Lingering Ghosts

Clint stood in front of the bathroom mirror assessing the damage. There were bruises on his chest, bite marks on his neck. He twisted his spine to see the scratches that began on his shoulders and ran down his back. Glancing further down, he caught sight of a palm sized bruise on his ass. 

Damn. 

He was fairly certain that one was from Nat’s heels digging in when they’d had a quickie against the wall yesterday afternoon.

He couldn’t stop the smile on his face as he pulled on his clothes. The sex between them was amazing. Seriously. World-class.

For years, he had known that Nat was talented. She would never have been able to get where she was if she wasn’t. Now that he had firsthand experience of being her sole focus, he didn’t think he could ever give it up. She was intoxicating. She was a high that men had undoubtedly killed for. A powerful drug, wrapped in silk skin.

It wasn’t all smooth sailing though.

She seemed determined to intrude on the peace they could have here by reminding him of the world beyond the farm. During the first few weeks, she had brought it up every few days. Her words cutting and twisting like a knife to the gut. A feeling he was intimately familiar with.

She had backed off somewhat, but only with her words. When he started talking about the next project he had planned she would arch one of those elegant brows, conveying a great deal more than anyone else he had ever met. He understood. She didn’t approve of him making more plans that would keep him here. They had always been able to read each other easily, a skill that had more to do with kindred souls than observation. 

It had been over a month since they had thrown weapons at each other though. So there was that.

Opening the bathroom door, he spotted Nat curled on the bed. Lax and naked, she was a wet dream come to life. 

“Good morning,” he said as he came to stand at the edge of the bed. 

She gave him a soft smile. It was those soft expressions, those relaxed poses, that he treasured more than anything. He knew when she was playing a mark she could fake them, but in her downtime around anyone else she was usually all sharp edges. Cutting smiles, tensed muscles. It was in the way she walked, silently, ready to spring into attack at a moment's notice. At SHIELD, other agents gave her a wide berth, respectful of the predatory way she moved. Clint had found it enticing. Though the very first time she had fallen asleep in his presence he had found himself just as enticed. That had been years ago now, but he still remembered. Perhaps it was then that he had fallen for her, though it had taken him this long to realize it.

Natasha gave a long stretch that thrust her breasts upward. He couldn’t help the way his eyes followed the movement. He was only human afterall. When his gaze returned to her face, there was a knowing smirk on her lips.

“Shower’s free,” he said unnecessarily, as his hand fell to her bare thigh. Sometimes he couldn’t help but touch her, feel her smooth skin beneath his calloused hands. It helped to ground him. Her warmth forcing back the chill of his nightmare - his reality. “I’ll get breakfast together,” he told her as he pulled himself away. 

No words followed him as he left the bedroom but he could feel her assessing gaze on the back of his neck. He could practically hear the gears in her mind beginning to crank, thinking up how she would approach the argument this time.

The skillet clattered as he set it in position over the burner. He didn’t want to argue. Truly. He knew in his mind that she had good points, but he couldn’t leave the farm. It was the last place he had been with Phil that wasn’t a mission. This had been their dream, their oasis. He couldn’t abandon it.

He flicked on the coffee pot, as he retrieved a carton of eggs from the fridge. 

Beneath his hand, the eggs cracked and splattered into the skillet, joined by spices and bit of cheese. When the coffee pot clicked off, he grabbed two mugs to fill. His mind was still turning over Natasha’s arguments, trying to find a way to explain to her why he couldn’t leave, so he didn’t even notice what he was doing until he had finished adding sugar and creamer to his cup. Beside his own bright yellow happy face mug, sat a royal blue mug filled with black coffee. Hands trembling, he lifted the drink and slowly tipped it until the liquid poured out. It splashed slightly before sliding down the drain. 

Natasha didn’t drink coffee. 

He knew without looking that there was a stereotypical G-man being revealed in the bottom of the cup as the liquid ran out. It had been one of the first things he had ever bought Coulson, a gag gift, back before they had finally tumbled into bed. When Phil had spotted the secret agent man for the first time, he had laughed. The first genuine full-bellied laugh the older man had granted him.

Clint breathed deeply, his demeanor still calm even as emotion choked him. 

This was why he couldn’t leave. This right here. The cup of black coffee. The ties in the closet upstairs. The plastic wrapped Captain America comics hidden in the office. When he left….If he left, Phil’s ghost might fade away from those things. Right now, he could see Phil’s hand gripping the coffee mug, could see a vision of half-lidded eyes and rumpled hair. If he left, he wasn’t sure he would still be able to see him.

This house was filled with Phil, but the outside world was filled with distractions. How long would it take for his memory of Phil to fade to the point he couldn’t even imagine stumbling morning Phil? How long until he couldn’t even remember Phil’s face and the spectrum of bland expressions he used to convey himself? Like the way he couldn’t remember his mother’s smile.

He was so wrapped up in his thoughts he didn’t hear Natasha until she was beside him, her hand covering his where he still had a death grip of the coffee mug.

She said nothing as she pried his fingers off. Silence settled between them as she guided him to a chair. He watched as she salvaged what she could of the eggs that were a tad overdone, and fixed him a plate. “Eat,” she instructed as she set down his plate and coffee in front of him.

He didn’t have the energy to argue. Instead he dug into the food with single-minded purpose. Focusing on one bite after another he kept from falling back into his thoughts. Poke with the fork, chew, swallow, take a sip of coffee, set it down, poke with the fork...

When his plate was finally clear, he looked up to find Natasha nursing a cup of tea. 

“Not hungry,” he asked.

She gave him the raised brow look, the one that she used to call him on his bullshit. She knew he was avoiding what had happened earlier. “You know I don’t need that many calories.”

Anger welled up out of nowhere. She was so composed. Always. She was trying to tear him away from his sanctuary, away from Phil, and she sat there calmly. He wanted to scream. He wanted to batter at her composure until it cracked. “Yeah, you’ve said that before. Why is that though, huh? How come you can keep going for days with nothing more than water? Is it a natural talent or did they train you how? What else did they teach you in the Red Room?” As soon as the last words were out of his mouth he felt a stab of regret but he forced it down.

She remained stoic on the surface but he caught the flash of hurt in her eyes. With deliberate movements, she set the tea down. “Yes,” she finally replied. “The Red Room is responsible for that as well as most of my other...talents.” Moving stiffly, as if she had suddenly lost all her grace, a puppet being jerked by strings, she left the table and sought the outdoors. 

Clint gathered up his dishes and put them into the sink before trudging to the door.

Out on the porch, he could just make out Natasha’s silhouette on the tree-line. “Idiot,” he scolded himself as he dropped his head against the porch post in front of him.


	8. In the Lab

Bruce knew it was none of his business.

He hadn’t survived all those years on the run by sticking his nose into other people’s problems unnecessarily. Yet, he couldn’t seem to let this one go.

Darcy seemed oblivious to his thoughts as she organized his notes and digitized them with JARVIS’ help. She was humming along to whatever music she had playing through her headphones, unconcerned by his presence. She had been like that from day one. Treating him like a normal person. There was no edge of scientific curiosity like with Tony. No barely concealed worry about what might happen if he had an incident like with Rogers. There was no fear like the kind he got from anyone else who knew about his alter ego.

Darcy was unique.

He wasn’t sure how, but over the last year of living and working with her, she had become a friend. He felt protective of her. Like a little sister, maybe. Or even like a daughter.

Which was why it was eating him up to watch the way she and Rogers were dancing around each other. He wanted to offer her advice, wanted to tell Rogers off.

But it really wasn’t his place. Besides he wasn’t certain that Darcy would appreciate the interference. 

It was fairly obvious to him how the wind was blowing there. Both parties were refusing to admit to it yet, but they were both equally terrible at hiding their attraction from anyone but each other. He wondered how long they would continue to waste time.

That was one good thing that had come from life after his... incident. Bruce had learned to live in the present as much as he could. It was how he survived the guilt from his past. How he dealt with the depressing vision he had of a lonely future.

It had taught him to enjoy what he had in the moment.

“Hey, Doc,” Darcy called, drawing him out of his reverie. He turned to see her watching him with a curious tilt to her head. “You okay there?”

“Fine. Just working through these latest numbers from Tony. He seems to think he can change the rate of fluid absorption on the suit through sheer force of will. I keep telling him it's not a matter of finding the right equation, we simply can’t change a law of physics. But he doesn’t listen.”

Darcy chuckled, before coming over to snatch his empty cup off his desk. “I’m pretty sure you and Tony have both proved that the laws of physics are really more guidelines than rules.”

He couldn’t argue with that considering every time he gave into the Other Guy he was going against the laws of matter conversion. 

“Still,” she continued, as she refilled his tea from the carafe she had brought down earlier, “if you can prevent any unnecessary explosions by convincing him not to break more science facts, I’d appreciate it. Whenever one happens I end up having to fill out all the paperwork Tony should be doing.”

It was his turn to laugh. “I’ll do my best.”

“That’s all I can ask for. Now, Doc, how about we take a break for lunch? I’d like to try to get you Science Crusaders out of the labs for a lunchtime now that there are some other non-sciencey types around.”

Though he did have work (that he hadn’t been focusing on as he contemplated Darcy’s love life), it wouldn’t hurt anything to let it sit. “Lunch sounds good.”

The bright smile she graced him with confirmed he had made the right decision. 

“Are you going to try to convince Tony to come as well?”

Her smile went sly. “No need for that. I’m pretty sure he’s got a science-crush on you, so all I need to do is tell him you’re going and he’ll appear.”

Bruce wasn’t too certain he was comfortable with Darcy’s assessment of ‘science-crush’ but he let it stand. The young woman was surprisingly good when it came to managing people. He had no doubt that she would have both Tony and Jane at the table with the rest of them.

“So what are you in the mood for, Doc? Pizza? Chinese? I know a great little Lebanese place if you want to get out of the Tower. Or Tony’s been muttering about shawarma lately, if you’re into that sort of thing.”


	9. Comparing Scars

Four hours hiking the edges of Clint’s property had enabled Natasha to reach a calm inside that matched her outside mask. She knew Clint was only lashing out, but up until today his words had only pierced skin deep. Today had been different. Clint knew about the Red Room. Not everything. Not by a wide margin. But he knew enough. He knew that she didn’t talk about what had been done to her there for a reason.

She hadn’t expected the jab. Which was why she hadn’t been braced for it. Part of her knew it was only self-defense. He had been hurt. It was natural to want those around you hurting too.

Maybe it was time for them to compare scars.

They knew most of each other’s secrets already. Yet there was always more. At least on her side. Another layer under another mask. 

She was determined to pursue what was between them, and that meant lowering those last layers of protection and letting him see. He had been showing her his jagged edges. She needed to return the favor. If he was ever going to rejoin the world at large he needed to see that it was possible to keep living even after having been unmade. Even after losing everything.

Surprisingly, when she went looking, she didn’t find him in the house. There was no banging from a hammer or whine of that drill he loved to show off. If he wasn’t knee deep in sawdust, there was only one other place he would be.

Behind the barn, Clint had built himself a range. To the casual observer it might not rank as such, but if you knew what to look for it was impressive. Between the trees, there were small targets set at different heights and angles. They blended with the natural foliage. Clint and Phil had carefully crafted the landscape to create several “lanes”. 

Though Clint had offered her one of the lanes, Natasha had declined. She wasn’t about to be shooting his trees. Besides she could only hit two out of three of those targets. (Not that she was ever going to admit that out loud to anyone.) Out of the two of them, Clint was the better marksman. Short-range they were even, but too much distance and Clint quickly outstripped her.

Leaning against the peeling paint of the wood siding, Natasha observed him for several long minutes as he emptied his quiver. His expression was pure focus and concentration. It was a look that often intimidated the younger agents. 

When he turned to her, that intensity melted away. Instead, he became contrite. The expression made him look much younger. 

“I’m sorry,” he began bluntly as if only minutes had passed between their last exchange. “That was  _ way _ out of line.” She gave him a nod of agreement to his statement. “I swear I won’t do that again, Nat. You don’t deserve to have me tossing what they did in your face.”

She could deny his statement. Tell him it was exactly what she deserved, but it would only create that wounded look in his eyes that she hated. “Maybe,” she said instead. “But it happened. It’s part of my past, Clint. Part of who I am. The same way your past has made you who you are.”

His lips twisted with a wry grin. “My past was pretty shitty, Nat. Not really sure I want to think of in terms of part of me. Might mean I’m a pretty shitty person.”

“Only sometimes,” she deadpanned.

“Ouch.” He put a hand over his chest dramatically as if she had stabbed him. Ironically it was right over a mark where he had been wounded three years ago in Somalia. “Don’t hold back now.”

The smile she gave him was genuine, if small. It faded as she found herself a seat on one of the wood piles stacked against the barn wall. “I’m serious, Clint. My past is part of me. I don’t advertise it, but I can’t forget it either. I know I never told you what they did to me, but -”

“No,” he interrupted sternly, setting his bow down on the wooden bench he had put out to prevent his equipment from having to be set on the ground. “You don’t have to tell me, Nat. Like I said, I was way out of line.” Stepping between her legs, he sank down to his knees. He pressed his face against her stomach, seeking comfort or giving it. 

Her hands threaded through his hair of their own accord. She could feel the tension running through him every place his muscles pressed against her own.

She didn’t understand his resistance. Did he think she didn’t want to share this with him? If so, he was right. She would much prefer to keep this part of herself in the shadows. That’s where she was safest. In the dark, hidden behind her masks of convenience and necessity. 

But for him she would bare it all. 

Or was the problem that he didn’t want to have the obligation of having to reciprocate?

“I don’t have to. Neither do you,” she attempted to assure him. “But I need to.”

 

###

 

Clint heard her words and couldn’t help the way his arms wrapped around her tightly. 

He wanted to make her stop.

He wanted to press his lips to hers to hold back further sound. 

He knew he couldn’t handle hearing what they had done to her. It played to every nightmare he had. 

Natasha was an unshakable rock. An anchor. Phil had been like that too. Without them he would be adrift. If she gave voice to the traumas of her past, it would make it real. Make it as real as what lurked in his history. He couldn’t see her like that. He always wanted to see her as she was now. Beautiful, strong. A woman first, a skilled partner second. Never just a weapon.

He knew the Red Room had tried to make her into the weapon she thought she was. She could never see that she had already proved she had heart when she had taken his offer for redemption.

Over the years they had been together he had observed her. It had been intentional in the very beginning (orders from Phil and Fury), but over time it had been his own curiosity at the mystery surrounding her. 

He had seen the way her eyes went dead and vacant when something reminded her of her training. They had done things to her. Nightmare worthy things. Horrors that even Clint, with the long history of abuse his body had taken, knew were far worse. Though her body showed no signs of it. 

She had given him bread crumbs about her story before. A passing mention of brainwashing techniques that only someone intimately familiar with them would know. The wistfulness in her voice when she talked about the ballet. Some things he had worked out for himself. Like the way she could go without food. Like the way he had known her for years but had never seen a line mar her face. Or the way she could take a hit and keep on going. It wasn’t quite like Captain America, the only super soldier he’d met, but it was similar.

He remembered a time in Chechnya when she had been shot in the thigh. He had ripped his shirt into strips to bind it. The bandages had soaked through with her blood as they made their way to their extraction, making him think that her femoral artery had been nicked. Yet, she never slowed. Safely in the jet, she hadn’t let anyone assist her except him. As he peeled back the stained fabric, he had found a through and through but the bleeding had somehow stopped. Only a week later, she no longer wore the bandage. At the time he hadn’t recognized that it was abnormal. Three weeks after that, on an op that required Nat poolside in a bikini and him as her cover on the rooftop of adjacent building, he had come to the realization. In the sights of his scope (the job had required a rifle not his usual bow), her skin appeared smooth and unblemished. Even her thigh. 

He had never asked her about it. But she had caught him staring during the debrief, and the look on her face had told him she knew he had noticed.

“You don’t need to. I swear you don’t. Whatever you’re thinking, you don’t need to do this. We’ve both got scars. Mine are just easier to see. I don’t need to know every detail of your past to love you, Nat. Keep your secrets. Same way you’ve always kept mine. I trust you.”

He couldn’t see her face from the way he was pressed against her, but he felt the way her hands trembled with emotion in his hair. More of a tell than anyone else would ever see from her.

She pushed his head back until their eyes met. Her green eyes weren’t cold now. They flickered with hope and need and love. If she could only see herself now she would never question her humanity. 

“Okay,” she said, though the word had far more meaning than simple agreement. Her hands were steady as they molded against his cheeks. Leaning down she pressed a chaste kiss to his forehead and he knew they were going to be alright.


	10. Steps Forward

Clint kicked at a rock as he made his way down to the end of the dirt drive. It skittered over the grass and bounced off a tree before coming to a stop. He smiled as a bird took offense to the noise he made and took flight. 

Ever since their heart to heart behind the barn, Clint had felt the ice melting in his nightmares. Phil’s ghost was as strong as ever, but he could feel himself stepping forward.

And Natasha was there to fill the space beside him. She wasn’t ever going to replace the overly competent man he loved. But she was a steadying presence that he found himself gravitating around. A fiery sun he could warm himself in.

It was becoming habit to set the kettle on the stove to support her tea habit as he started the coffee maker for himself. He cleared out a practice space for her in the barn, laying down smooth sanded planks. He shared the hidden caches he had for weapons and even made a few new ones for her favored knives.

She made him smile. In different ways than Phil ever did, but he still smiled.

She pushed him too. The next time she brought up the world beyond his dirt drive, he listened. (Without throwing things or spouting something stupid out of his big mouth.) He knew he couldn’t stay here forever. It would be admitting defeat. Phil would be disappointed by that. Plus he knew that if Natasha left he would follow. He could never stay without her now. His best friend, his lover. If she left he would be lost.

At the end of the long drive, a camouflaged mailbox set against a tree. He placed an envelope filled with cash and a shopping list in the box. It was how he communicated with his neighbor Abe.

Old Abe had been working his own farm for forty years, the last ten without his wife. He was alone and Clint knew he didn’t want to end up like that. He respected the old man for his dedication, but he couldn’t be that sort of man. 

It was time for him to start planning to leave his haven.

Back at the house, he found Natasha lounging on the front porch in the swing. One bare foot pushing off the floor to keep the seat swaying, the other tucked up beneath her leg.

“Hello, beautiful,” he greeted her with a kiss on the cheek.

“Have a nice walk?”

“Eh. Quiet.”

She gave him a questioning look, but he didn’t elaborate. She smirked anyway. He wasn’t ready yet, but he was sure she could see that he was trying at least. He was opening up to the possibilities. Maybe he wasn’t ready, but the time was coming when he could be.


	11. Natasha's Nightmares

Natasha had always known when she was dreaming. She was too in tune with her body to ever mistake a dream for reality. Which was why when she found herself walking the halls of the Helicarrier, she knew it was all in her mind. She even knew this dream intimately. This memory had played far too often.

When the fate of the planet had come to rest on her ability to deal with the literal god of illusions, Loki, she had known her own would fail her. Instead, she had arrived before him with her masks lowered. She could give him nothing but sincerity. He would see through any trick she tried. Her best illusion had become honesty. 

To those who watched from the command room, they had probably believed her to be playing another game. Over the years she had twisted truth and illusion together like two braids in the same strand of rope. Even her closest compatriots would not be able to determine which was which unless she allowed them to know. Though she suspected Clint and Phil were the exception to that rule.

"Love is for children. I owe him a debt." The words were a statement, a challenge. She had tossed it to Loki gently, willing him to take the bait disguised as denial.

"Tell me," the caged god had demanded.

Acquiescing, she had told him about their beginning. "Before I worked for SHIELD, I ah - well, I made a name for myself. I have a very specific skill set. I didn't care whom I used it for, or on. I got on SHIELD's radar in a bad way. Agent Barton was sent to kill me. He made a different call."

All these months later it was still strikingly clear. She never dreamed about the blood that stained her ledger, or the lives she had taken. Nor about the past Loki had tried to throw in her face. 

Instead, her nightmares were him taunting her with what he had in store for Barton if his plan succeeded. "I won't touch Barton. Not until I make him kill you, slowly, intimately, in every way he knows you fear. And then he’ll wake just long enough to see his good work. And when he screams, I’ll split his skull."

It had been at that moment she felt her hard heart kick with fear. She whirled away from him, unable to continue with even a small glimpse of her true self in the light. Her masks hid her from the world and from herself. She could not be without them for long. When she turned away from him, she pulled that protection back into place, even as she called him a monster.

"Oh no. You brought the monster," he stated confidently.

When she had faced him, dry eyed and unfazed, he had been taken aback. His smug smile wiped away by confusion. "So, Banner? That's your play." She had called it in. Then turned to give the god one final blow. "Thank you, for your cooperation."

There were other nightmares that had spawned from that same day. Sometimes the former faded into the latter. Natasha tried very hard to pretend the others didn't exist. It was one thing to think about Loki, the god who had tried to take the man she loved from her. He had been defeated and was currently serving a life sentence in some Asgardian prison. (She had been hoping for the death penalty but apparently Loki's princely status saved him from that.) However, the green beast that stalked her through her dreams wasn't something she could defeat. No one could. Which made it best not to ponder those dreams too long.

She could feel the nightmare trying to head down that path, trying to make her into the shaken woman hiding among the machinery. She fought it, rejecting the memory.

Her eyes snapped open, immediately taking in every detail around her. Clint was still asleep beside her, one of his legs sticking outside the blanket. Lips parted and face half-smashed into the pillow.

Carefully she extracted herself from the bed. Clint stirred slightly but fell back into slumber when she gently patted his hair.

The water of the shower felt cool on her skin, but she didn't linger. She needed movement, action. She needed to feel her muscles burn, to remind herself that she had control. She had long ago reclaimed the power over her mind, her body, and her sexuality, but sometimes, in the shaky moments after the nightmares, she couldn’t feel it. There was a disconnect. The best medicine was to push herself until there was fire beneath her skin, sweat on the surface. 

She slipped out of the house without waking Clint.

In the large open barn, he had cleared out a space for her. She could push herself here. So she did. Lost in the rhythmic movements of her routine she could focus on the now. 

The now was the only thing that mattered. Not her past. Not the murky future. Only this. The sound of her own breath. The beat of her heart.

The adrenaline and high of straining her limits was pumping through her when she heard the crunch of tires on the drive. She stilled immediately. Straining her ears she listened.

The sound of car door had her sliding forward silently. Peeking out between the slats of the barn door, she saw Old Abe’s rusty pick-up rolling to a stop. 

She watched as Clint came out from the house and met the older man with a firm handshake. They unloaded the few bags together then stood chatting. She was still watching when she saw Clint stiffen. Something was wrong.

Abandoning her decision to remain out of sight, she approached the two men. She could hear Old Abe speaking overly loud to Clint, keeping his mouth in the younger man’s line of sight. 

“Wanted to make sure ya knew. Figure the rest of the country does, you should too. Not the craziest shit this country has seen in the last few years, but still…”

His voice trailed off as he noticed Natasha out of the corner of his eye.

“Hello,” she said, allowing a sweet smile to grace her lips. “You must be Abraham. I’ve heard good things.”

“Umm...hello young lady,” he said extending a hand. He shot Clint a look while she met his gnarled hand for a shake. Turning to the younger man again, he gave a raspy huff of laughter before clapping Clint on the shoulder. “That sure explains things. I’ll let ya get back to it then.”

He tipped his hat and ambled back into his truck, driving off with a wave.

The pickup was only yards down the drive, when Clint cocked his head. “You know when we had that whole discussion about Stark and his bad life choices?”

“Yeah. I recall we agreed it was all due to a chronic need for attention.”

Clint grinned. “Well we can add another cry for attention to the list. He went completely off script. Gave his address out on national television, which prompted his Malibu house to be blown sky high. Everyone thought he was dead. Then the President got kidnapped and Stark showed back up to save the day. It’s all ‘hunky dorey’ now apparently. But Abe isn’t exactly the most reliable for that last bit. He thinks everything is good if it’s not on fire.”

Natasha gave a sharp nod. “Then I guess we’ll get our own information.”

Clint murmured his own agreement and began to clear the things Abe had brought off the porch, while Natasha went in search of a change of clothes. Discussion wasn’t needed, they knew both knew what the next steps were. 

The farm was isolated. On purpose, but still isolated. Clint and Phil had wanted it that way. There was no internet, no phone, no cell service. Nothing to connect them to the outside world. Phil had kept an emergency satellite hookup in his office, but it had been one of the first things Clint destroyed when he went into hiding. 

To get any kind of news they had to rely on Old Abe, or the newspaper he sometimes brought them. 

Natasha could have brought her own means of communication with her, but she had been too concerned with Hydra or any of the alphabet agencies tracking her. She had wanted nothing to endanger Clint’s safe haven.

There was a laptop in the office, Phil’s old spare. It would be sufficient for what she needed to do, but without internet it was useless. 

When they were both ready, they piled into the stolen Jeep (which Natasha had switched out the plates on) and head to the nearest city. It was a drive, but worth it. They needed a strong unsecured connection. Something strong enough to get them the speed she needed to hack through some back channels she had left herself, if they couldn’t get the information straight from the ass’s mouth. That donkey being Stark, of course.

Outside a busy coffee house, she hijacked the internet connection from the car.

She checked her secure email first. There were several from Steve updating her on his search and asking after her. Tony had also apparently gotten his hands on it as there were multiple invitations for her and ‘Legolas’ to come join the rest of the team in the Tower.

“What do you think,” she asked him as he finished reading the email from Tony. She didn’t care if they went to the Tower. It had never been her intention to take Clint there specifically. She only wanted him off the farm and into the world, but it might be good for him to be with a team. 

For her, there was as much disadvantage as benefit. Steve was trustworthy but the rest were unpredictable. Her distrust didn’t mean she wouldn’t work with them. It simply meant she was wary. She had worked with strike teams in SHIELD without trusting them further than the mission. She would do the same here. If Clint decided to go she would have no trouble following. She didn’t have to like them to be able to work with them. She had already proved that when they took on the Chitauri together.

Clint cocked his head and narrowed his eyes as he assessed her.

“It might be good to at least take a look,” she continued. “Make sure Stark hasn’t gone off the deep end.” There was interest in his eyes so she pulled out another carrot to lure him in. “We should probably assess his security too.”

A shit-eating grin spread across his lips. “I could get behind that. I’ll have to talk to Abe make sure he’s okay with watching the place for a while. He usually finds one of his grandkids to check in. Shouldn’t be a problem, but it might take a few days.”

His answer was surprising. She had expected more resistance. She even had a whole speech lined up to cajole him. It was almost too easy.

“Alright then,” she said as she closed the laptop and he started the car. “Let’s talk tactics.”

While the road flew by beneath the Jeep’s tires, they prepared their plan for approach. As they debated, Natasha watched Clint closely. There was something wrong about his easy acceptance. Perhaps he had been getting a bit stir crazy. Though that didn’t seem exactly right. 

She turned her attention to the mission they were planning for themselves instead. There was nothing to fear, but Natasha still felt a sliver of unease pass through her. She knew how most of the players in this game would react. Except for one. The Hulk would be the wildcard. If they startled him... there could be consequences they didn’t want.

This fear wasn’t going to be a problem though. She knew fear intimately, but experience had taught her that the only way to escape fear was to conquer it. It had been one of the Red Room’s favorite lessons.

By the time they made it back to the farmhouse, they had the basics of their plan mapped out. Clint had also agreed that it would be good to spend a little time with the rest of the Avengers. It would be good to train together for the next time they were called upon.

That easily Clint and her were going to Stark Tower and apparently staying for a while. Natasha was pretty sure that Tony would be happy to hear it. Of course, they weren’t going to tell him that they were coming. What would be the fun in that?


	12. Toes in the Grass

It was rare for Bruce to venture outside the Tower. The crowds and busy pace of New York, and the sharp attitude of New Yorkers, were not the best thing for his blood pressure. And his increased heart rate was bad for them.

He wasn’t too worried that he would have an incident. Still, Bruce didn’t want to risk innocent lives.

Today, however, he had gotten an itch beneath his skin. He had been restless the past week. He need some time outdoors. A place he could get ground beneath his feet and fresh air, the air from the balcony of the Tower was not sufficient.

So without a lot of forethought, he replaced his lab coat with his suit jacket and made his way down the lobby of the Tower. As he exited onto the street, he caught a flash of red out of the corner of his eye.

He paused trying to see the woman in the shifting crowds. After a few seconds of not finding his quarry he shook it off. It probably wasn’t Agent Romanov. Steve said she had been planning to take an extended vacation for herself after SHIELD had crumbled. He could understand her need.

The phantom he thought he had seen was simply his own guilty conscious playing tricks. He hadn’t seen Natasha since the day they had watched Thor drag Loki home. However, every time he thought of her he could only remember that day on the Helicarrier. Her determined face and wide frightened eyes while she tried to convince him they were going to be okay. Feeling his clothing tighten around him, he had known even then that they weren’t. Regret had rolled over him as strong as the change.

When he had come back to himself in an abandoned warehouse, he had been thankful that he hadn’t hurt anyone when he landed. But worry had plagued him as he made his way toward Stark Tower. He didn’t know if Natasha had survived, though he hoped. Relief had poured through him when he saw her standing with the rest of the team.

But she wasn’t here now.

He shook off the memory and regret, centered himself in the now.

Carefully keeping himself away from the worst press of people he made his way down to Central Park.

Darcy had been spouting how spending some time with your toes in the grass was necessary for maintaining sanity. He wasn’t exactly sure that she practiced what she preached, but with the young woman it was hard to tell.

Sighing with fond exasperation, he passed into the park.


	13. The Break-In

Time had passed since the battle of New York, like it always does. The city was still rebuilding but eventually it would be as if it had never happened. At least on the surface. The emotional trauma from that day would be with the citizens far longer. Everyone who had lost someone during the attack would always remember.

Natasha could feel in in the air as she walked along with the flow of the crowds, playing tourist. New Yorkers were tough, but they had taken a few heavy hits in the last few years. She could see it in the way eyes would jump to boarded up windows that had been painted with messages of hope. The way even busy professionals would glance to top of Stark Tower as if checking to make sure it was safe when normally their attention would be centered on their phones.

On a rooftop across the block from the Tower, Clint was studying the defenses he could see. They both knew Stark relied heavily on electronics. Far more comfortable trusting of them than humans. Clint was getting a handle on where cameras sat and where there were blind spots they could exploit.

Natasha was going to go after the human element. In her experience, that was always the best way into a secured location. 

The goal here wasn’t to do any damage. They simply wanted to see if the Tony’s security was passable by their standards.

If Natasha was going to be expected to stay here she was going to be  _ sure _ it was up to standard.

They had decided to go in with comms off. It would only give away their positions since undoubtedly Stark would be able to hack the feed, but if things went wrong they would be able to communicate and adjust by turning them on.

Approaching the door, Natasha pulled the sunglasses from her eyes and pushed them up on her head. Pasting a large false smile on her lips, she headed for the reception desk. 

The lobby consisted of the reception desk that sat prominently to the right side. There were two banks of elevators with a security desk sitting between. The crowd on the left consisted mostly of researchers and lab techs and business suits, obviously SI employees. These were headed for the elevators that went to more secured floors like the R&D and corporate levels. A checkpoint was set before these elevators; turnstiles that required a badge to be scanned.

Behind the security counter, there were three guards. One had eyes trained on a bank of monitors under the lip of the counter, while a second was focused on the turnstiles. The third was scanning those who were filing into the elevators on the right which went to the levels that contained shops and restaurants.

Her goal was to get onto the secured levels.

First step: assess the receptionist and see if she could act as a point of entry.

 

###

 

Clint had hit the jackpot. An opening in the thirty-fifth floor, where workman were switching out the large window panels. 

It was like Stark wanted someone to break in.

Snickering, the archer quickly leapt from his perch and headed to the next building over. It was a better angle. This would hardly be the first time he had jumped off a building and it would hardly be the last. 

The jump went smoothly. He slid into the opening like thread through a needle, skidding over the the plastic sheeting the workmen had laid down. 

It was perfect and epic…..and there was no one around to even see it. No voice in his ear blandly congratulating him for avoiding becoming a messy splatter like a fly on a windshield.

He brushed the thought a side and focused on the mission. It might not be critical or sanctioned, but it was still a mission.

Luck was on his side, once more, as he found himself in one of the corporate levels that was still empty. Pepper was slowly moving the corporate offices to New York, but it was process that would take time. This floor looked like it was going to eventually house some low-level minions going from the taupe walls and stacks of cubicle walls waiting to be assembled. 

Grinning fiercely he pried open the elevator shaft and began to climb. When the elevator car came into view he paused and waited for his moment.

Landing roughly on the roof of the fast moving car, he laughed out loud. It was part adrenaline, part fun. It wasn’t even his birthday and the mission had been gift-wrapped for him.

When the elevator came to a stop, he was quick to step off. He climbed up another fifty feet before he found what he was looking for: an access hatch.

He chuckled (no one heard him so they couldn’t call it a giggle) as he surveyed the size of the vent. Seriously, it was like Stark wanted them to break in.

The space was fairly roomy, compared to some of the spaces he had crawled through. As he passed by a grate he was able to spot lab equipment, but the room was empty. He only made it a few feet further when suddenly alarms started blaring. They echoed through the shaft and Clint winced from the momentary feedback from his implant.

Then Clint found out why Stark had such large air vents, because thick metal doors were sliding down, cutting the vents into sections and sealing with a hiss. Thankfully the heavy metal missed his foot by inches. However, it did leave him with only the option of moving forward.

With a sigh, Clint did just that. Either himself or Natasha had more than likely caused the alarm. But it could be a real emergency which meant he needed to check in.

He tried the comm only to find static. 

So much for that.

The sirens cut out as suddenly as they started, but the metal doors remained in place.

At the next grate, he could see more lab equipment and signs of life. From his position he couldn’t see the whole room, but it seemed safe enough. Kicking the cover open, he swung him down. He paused, holding himself still as he tried to determine the best place to drop down. He didn’t want to cause damage to any of the sciency things.

Then something pricked his side and he was no longer in control of his muscles.

 

###

 

After only a three minute conversation, Natasha concluded that Tony’s people were more loyal than she anticipated. Or at least the receptionist was. Along with the security guard that had come to stand behind the woman, leveling an intimidating glare in Natasha’s direction. 

Quickly changing tactics, she abandoned the reception desk and joined the crowd to the right.

Only thirty minutes after the elevator doors closed, Natasha was one stairwell away from the research levels. She had made it through to the corporate levels, but had a hard time moving up from there.

As soon as her fingers touched the door handle, the alarms sounded.

Fuck.

Quickly she backtracked down one level, joining the nervous looking employees milling around. Out of the corner of her eyes, she spotted the dark blue suits of security. They were funnelling people off the floor, forcing each person to show their badge and identification.

Well that wasn’t going to work.

Silently she slipped back out of the crowd and wormed her way back down the small hole she had cut into the floor of a supply closet to put her back down onto the commercial floors.

Carefully she brushed the dust from her clothing and fixed her hair, grabbing the purse she had tucked behind a rack of paper towels.

As she stepped out, the first announcements began to play.

“Please remain calm. For your safety, the building has been locked down. Access is now restricted to security personnel and police. Please listen closely for more instructions. And thank you for your patience.”

Mimicking movements of brushing her hair behind her ear, she activated the earpiece.

It crackled once, indicating it had powered on.

“Hawkeye, I’m pinned down. What’s your status?” 

Silence. 

“What the hell,” a man grumbled beside her. “Max, do you have any reception,” he asked his son. “I swear I had full bars a few minutes ago.” The man turned to complain to a nearby guard.

“I’m sorry, sir. All wireless communications have been temporarily disabled. You should have all functions back shortly, but if you have an emergency I have a hardline.”

Smart. Natasha had to give Tony credit for that one. There were undoubtedly signal dampeners installed on every floor to give full coverage.

The PA system began to play another message. “Attention. Thank you for your cooperation during this unscheduled drill. The building is returning to normal functions. Once again thank you for your cooperation.” There is a slight pause. ‘Would the guardian of Legolas please see security for his location.”

Natasha felt a stab of concern pierce through her chest. She knew he wasn’t hurt. Not if Tony was making jokes. 

But lack of direct communication from him meant he wasn’t able. Something was wrong.

Striding toward the guard, urgency crawled under her skin. She had to know that he was okay. “I need to speak to Stark,” she demanded. 

The guard only gave her a condescending stare. “If you have a complaint you can take it to the reception desk on the first floor.”

With a move far too fast for the man to follow, Natasha slammed him face-first against the wall, his arm pushed up against his back. “Allow me to rephrase: Connect me to the penthouse.” She tweaked his arm a little further, earning her a satisfying grunt of pain. “Now.”

Her shoe was digging into the space between the guard’s shoulder blades as he laid on the floor beside her when the phone in her hand connected. A familiar voice was there but it wasn’t the one she was expecting.

“I’m hoping this is a hot redhead,” Sam greeted.

“Wilson.”

“You know, I was on my way out the door when the building suddenly went into lock down. If it wasn’t for the fact that Stark’s got a private jet waiting for me, I would have missed my flight.” He paused as if expecting a comment from her. When none was forthcoming, he continued. “Stark says you should come up.”

“Is Barton all right?”

“He’s fine. Come see for yourself.”

Shanghaiing the guard, she forced him to ‘escort’ her to one of the secure elevators. The doors opened on a luxuriously decorated floor where Clint was sprawled on the couch, looking fine if a little worse for wear.

Marching forward, the men scattered out of her way. Steve, usual grim-faced when someone was injured, was restraining a smile. Stark was out-right grinning. He stepped further back when she shot a glare in his direction.

“Who did this? Stark,” she accused. 

Before he answered, a young woman she hadn’t noticed stepped forward. “Uh, that’d be me. Got a little trigger happy...again.” She was young, and vaguely familiar. The girl fidgeted under her stare, fingers running over the shockingly-purple taser in her hand.

Recognition clicked. Jane Foster’s intern. Darcy Lewis. The girl who tasered Thor. 

Phil and Clint had not seen that particular part of the New Mexico incident, and had never added it to the official report. However, when they had learned about it from the young woman’s debrief, Clint had been thrilled to share the story.

Barton looked up at her with a smirk. He seemed to be taking the whole incident with good humor. "That's what I get for not using the front door, Nat," he said reaching for her hand.

Natasha allowed him to take it, shifting her glare away from one relieved Darcy Lewis. "No, that's what you get for being out of practice. Believe me, Barton, we're going to fix that."

Now the archer's face showed dismay. "I don't really think -"

"That's right you don't," she told him a little harshly. Concern for him made her snappish.

Clint snapped his mouth shut at her fierce tone. 

"Next time you should call ahead before attempting to breach my security," Tony tossed in from his ‘safe’ distance near the door. 

"If we had called ahead we wouldn't have gotten a true feel for your security's capabilities," Natasha countered.

"Plus we wouldn't have found out about your third layer of defense in the disguise of a lab assistant." That had been from Clint and it made Darcy huff a laugh.

Natasha’s gaze cut to her again. 

Under the scrutiny, the younger woman quickly covered her amusement though she didn’t drop her eyes. Natasha was subtly impressed. For a civilian, she had courage. 

"I'm really sorry, again," Darcy said. "If it will make you feel better you can hit me back." She offered the taser in Clint's direction. "Or you can have your impressive comrade-slash-girlfriend do it. I wouldn't mind tingling from anything she did to me."

The silence was remarkable. The men all holding their breath as they waited for her response.

Natasha kept all thoughts from her face. Only the narrowing of her eyes giving indication of her thoughts. She could see that the young woman wasn’t stupid. The widening of her eyes with the fear of reprisal meant she knew exactly who she was speaking to. However, Darcy had charged ahead anyway.

The men were frozen and looking to Natasha for a reaction. She wasn’t about to disappoint. 

"I can promise more than tingling," she replied as a lascivious grin spread across her lips.

Clint lost it, clutching at his sides. His laughter spurred the others. Natasha found herself smiling along. 

She could feel the young woman’s regard, an interest that Natasha wasn’t able to easily categorize in her eyes. There was pieces of attraction, fascination, caution, and something else that seemed speculative. It was a look far more complicated than Natasha expected from a girl like Darcy.

“There is to be no girl-on-girl in the Tower unless JARVIS is recording,” Stark pronounced. “Other than that you have my blessing.”

An eye roll was really the only response she could give without physically injuring the genius.


	14. New Quarters

“I’m impressed,” Clint proclaimed as he took in the full range that Stark had outfitted on his private floor.

He could tell Natasha was feeling the same, but she would never give Stark the satisfaction of stating it outloud. However, he knew her tells, and she had been happy with what they had seen so far. Each of them had a whole floor to themselves. He had even positioned them next to each over, with Clint on top and Natasha below.

Though that usually wasn’t how they ended up.

Smirking at his own joke, he made his way back the the entryway where the elevator would dump visitors. Crossing the small hall, he re-entered the apartment side, Natasha trailing behind. 

Clint might have called it a loft if not for the half-walls that divided the two bedrooms, several closets, and bathrooms. The ceilings here were high and the whole place had unique architectural pieces that created an ultra-modern design. It wasn’t his usual style, but he wasn’t called Hawkeye for nothing. He could see that Stark had created the space with an eye for a what a sniper would need.

Clint could tell even without climbing into the exposed support beams that he would be able to survey every corner of the apartment from several viewpoints above.

It was perfect.

“We should go check out yours, Nat. I’m sure it’s just as nice. Steve said Stark really put some effort in. And he didn’t even decorate Cap’s suite in red, white, and blue...You know he had to be tempted...Which means he can’t have done anything too terrible with yours.”

She gave him a small smile then, but he could see she was distracted. She had been, ever so slightly, since they had left the common floor and gone to collect their bags.

He grabbed his go-bag and gave her a cheeky grin. “Let’s go.”

Though one brow raised she made no comment about his assumption of staying with her. 

It wasn’t that he wanted sex. (But let’s be honest that was always a thought.) It was just that after months of sleeping beside her in the safety of the farmhouse, he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to rest without her warmth beside him. Plus this was unknown territory. Trying to get his mind and body to relax enough to unwind would be difficult.

He could sleep. Sleeping had never been a problem. He had learned to cat-nap doing his time as a sniper. You got sleep where you could and when you could, even if that meant while you were tucked in between the branches of a fifty-foot tree in the middle of a summer storm. However, sleep like that would have him snapping awake at every small noise and that was hardly restful.

He started for the elevator when JARVIS’ voice came from above.

“Pardon me, Mr. Barton. Sir, would like me to inform you that he had provided a secondary way between your suites.”

“What exactly does that mean,” Natasha asked the disembodied voice.

“If you would direct your attention to the wall to your left.” The wall was one of those half-walls, and Clint had thought it was the back end of the master closet. 

A panel slid open revealing a small spiral staircase.

“The panel can be engaged by myself or manually. On the opposite side is another panel of the same design which is located in your bedroom closet. The bottom of the staircase is set up the same way in Miss Romanov’s suite.”

“Thanks, Jarvis,” Clint said. He gave Nat a wink. “So I can totally sneak down to your room without mom and dad knowing.”

Nat slapped the back of his head before moving around him to take the stairs down.

The panel on the floor below them was already open. Exiting, Clint could see a simply and elegantly decorated suite. It was done in vivid browns and greens, with accents in oranges and reds. 

Stark had captured Nat’s spirit. Or perhaps it had only been a designer he hired. Either way it was well done.

Even Natasha had an anticipatory smile.

“So,” Barton urged.

“It’s sufficient.”

“Uh huh. You totally love it.”

She made no denial and sauntered off to inspect the rest of the space.

A few hours later, they had retired to the Nat’s plush bedroom. Stark had provided a luscious four poster bed with a deep maroon canopy. Curled around her, he felt at peace even in this new territory. Pressing a kiss to her bare shoulder, he wondered at the tenseness he still felt in body.

“What do you know about Darcy,” she asked in the darkness.

“Why are you so curious?”

“She tasered you,” Natasha stated flatly.

“Well yeah, but she didn’t know who I was,” he argued. “At least she didn’t shoot me on sight, like some people I know.” Natasha rolled so that he could see her frown at his attempted humor. “Right. If you’re that curious about her, why don’t you just interrogate her yourself?”

“I will,” she said, scooting away from him.

“ _ Whoa _ ,” he said, grabbing at her. “Tomorrow. Do it tomorrow.” He dragged her back against him. He waited for a moment, his grip tight to see if she would move. When she remained still he continued. “Don’t really interrogate her, okay? Thor apparently has adopted her and I don’t want to see you mixing it up with him. Be nice.”

“I’m always nice.”   
He snorted, but didn’t dispute it. Her interest in the young woman was out of character, but Clint wouldn’t question her on it. Not yet at least. Depending on how things played out, he might have to, but for now he would let things sit.


	15. The Girls Go Shopping

Natasha woke early. In the pre-dawn light, a plan was already forming.

Darcy Lewis was an unknown factor, and Natasha didn’t like unknowns. What she enjoyed was knowing everything she could about everyone around her. Like she’d once told Steve she only pretended to actually know everything, though that didn’t mean that she didn’t try.

Bottom line...Darcy Lewis was an unknown, and Natasha had to fix that.

As she went through her morning routine, in the shiny new bathroom she could call her own, Natasha had JARVIS pull up the SHIELD files that had been scavenged from her information dump. They had all the young woman’s essentials: date of birth, basic family history (only two living blood relatives), emergency contact (Dr. Foster). Then there were the notes from the incidents Darcy had been involved in. _Flighty and sarcastic_ , one note read. _Obnoxious_ , said another. _Extremely attached to her iPod as evidenced by her insistent and repeated calls_ , said a third in Phil’s sass soaked words.

The file gave a rundown of the two alien encounters Darcy had been involved in. She may be flighty and brazen, but she had kept her head during emergency situations. She had pulled people out of harm's way (animals too) and fought to the best of her limited ability. 

There was something about the girl that Natasha felt drawn to, but whatever it was wasn’t illuminated by the file.

Natasha would have to observe first-hand to find out more.

After showering, Natasha dialed a number she had never forgotten.

“Pepper Potts,” the voice on the other line answer.

“Pepper, how are you,” she asked the fellow redhead. After Natasha had completed her infiltration of Stark Industries, she had kept in contact with the other woman. They often called each other to complain about whatever new trouble Tony had caused.

“Natasha,” the CEO said fondly. “I’m wonderful. Tony said that you and your partner had arrived. I do hope you’re planning to stay.”

“It appears so.”

“Wonderful! We have so much to catch up on.” That was an understatement if Natasha ever heard one.

“I was wondering if I might borrow a driver for the day.”

There was the sound of shuffling papers. “Of course! Actually Happy is staying in the Tower for the moment. I’m sure I could have him take you.”

Natasha didn’t bother to repress the smile her lips slipped into at the thought of the man in question. Though they hadn’t spoken since he’d assisted with her infiltration of Hammer Tech, he was certain to be happy to have her in the back of his car. Though this time she wouldn’t be doing a quick-change. “That would be perfect, Pepper. Thank you.”

“You’re quite welcome. We definitely need to get together soon.”

“Let me know what you’re free and we’ll set something up.”

Tony could be heard in the background then. Pepper’s voice became muffled as she spoke to the man, probably covering the mouthpiece. “I’m sorry I need to go,” she said when she came back on the line. “The children are awake.”

Natasha laughed. “Have fun with that.”

“I always do.”

Making one last check to assure herself she had everything she needed, she headed from Darcy’s apartment. The younger woman had a one-bedroom apartment on the same floor as Thor and Dr. Foster. 

Though she knew JARVIS was watching, Natasha found the door to Darcy’s apartment opened easily at her touch. Apparently, the young woman had put no restrictions on visitors, unlike Natasha who had already shut down all access to her floor besides Clint.

As she entered, she could hear the soft sounds of water splashing and humming. If it had been Pepper’s apartment Natasha was breaking into she might have had a second thought about walking into the woman’s bathroom unannounced. 

As it was, Natasha had no hesitation.

In the steam-filled room, Darcy was laying back among the warm water, eyes closed, headphones on.

Natasha stood patiently waiting. That patience was rewarded when Darcy’s eyes opened.

"Christ-on-a-cracker," Darcy sputtered as she yanked the headphones off, though she made no attempt to cover up.

Smirking Natasha gave her a once over and nodded in approval. The move was meant to make Darcy uncomfortable, but the young woman never flinched.

"Get ready. We leave in ten," Natasha informed her, turning her back on the naked woman.

"Excuse me!" The tone was laced with outrage, but when Natasha gave her a raised brow look over her shoulder she quickly backtracked. “Where are we going? I mean, do I need snow-shoes or a bikini or cowboy boots? Give a girl a hint.”

Natasha only smiled. "Nine minutes, thirty seconds."

"Dammit," Darcy muttered as she scrambled out of the tub, suds and water sliding down to coat the floor.

Natasha didn’t stay. She went back to the front room and contemplated her plans for the day, leaning against the wall near the door, listening to the Darcy’s mutterings as she raced to get ready. Though it was a Saturday and Natasha had definitely startled the younger woman she wasn’t questioning things. Most people would see that as naive. Those in the business would sneer that Darcy was too trusting. A civilian. 

Yet Natasha was intrigued. And reluctantly impressed.

Any normal civilian finding a stranger in their bathroom would have attempted to cover up, or demanded the stranger leave. 

They wouldn’t be rushing to ready themselves for following that stranger out the door.

When the younger woman came skidding into the room, Natasha offered her a smile and a reprieve in the form of a coffee. Still there were no questions. Not when they left the Tower. Not when they got in the car with Happy. Not even when she made Darcy try on sixteen black shirt that were almost identical. 

There was some eye-rolling, a few confused looks, and a couple of heavy sighs. But still Darcy didn’t complain or question. The brunette was a mixture of confident and terrified, yet she rolled with each new curveball.

By late afternoon, Natasha had made a decision on the test she hadn’t realized she had been subjecting Darcy to: Darcy Lewis could be trusted. This kind of trust...Natasha wasn’t sure if she had ever felt it before. With Clint there had been understanding, connection, but true trust had taken time. Phil had been a mentor, a superior that proved his trustworthiness over countless missions. Steve had allowed months of her picking and poking and prodding before Natasha had finally believed in his trust. Only then had she returned it. 

Though suspicious of the speed, Natasha couldn’t deny the truth of it. 

For all Darcy’s snark and sarcasm, she was adaptable and fairly unflappable. Phil would have liked her. Natasha wanted to see what other surprises this seemingly simple woman held. She wanted to keep her. 

That was why Natasha gave Happy one more address.

It had been in her plan to go alone at a later time as it was an old favorite of hers. One that she hadn’t visited in several years, not since just before joining SHIELD.

The two women who owned it were old KGB operatives. They had been meant to be sleeper agents in the US, but had defected when they had both fallen in love with the country.

Darcy took everything in stride even when Yalena had taken aim with a shotgun. It was easy to bring the two women around, to prove that she was no threat to their continued peace.  _ “There are no more spiders. I burned them all.”  _ They would know the truth of it. Both had been careful to keep their ears to the ground even in the sanctuary they had found.

When Alina forced the weapon down, Natasha had confidence that Darcy would be safe in Alina’s hands while she browsed.

The women had cases full of handmade jewelry. Some that had more purpose than being solely ornamental. Hair pins that were sharp enough to pierce flesh. Rings that held poisons.  

"You promised no catsuits,” Darcy called from where Alina was taking her measurements to keep on file in case Natasha wanted to call in an order in the future.

Natasha could only laugh.

Yalena’s sharp gaze tightened on her. Glancing to the front, Yalena made sure her voice was low enough not to be overheard. “The Spider I remember would never had brought a child to a place like this.”

The accusation was easy to understand. Natasha’s face shuttered into a cold mask. “I am not a Mistress of the Red Room.” There was no tone, but the absence of warmth turned the words to ice in the air. 

The old woman’s grey head nodded sharply once in acknowledgment.

Even after they left the boutique, Yalena’s words thundered through her mind. Why? Why had she taken Darcy there? Why had she exposed a civilian to such a place?

There was only one answer…

No.

Fear crawled up her spine, but Natasha knew what do with fear like that. She breathed it in. Soaked it into her skin and her bones and her muscles. Fear to a Spider was like sunlight to a spring blossom.

By the time the car rolled into the Tower’s underground garage, Natasha was finding it difficult to hold onto her masks. Instincts of decades breaking down because of one little girl. It was unacceptable.

Clint was waiting for them in the garage. "Welcome back, ladies. I figured you might need help with your haul."

"Bless you," Darcy said with conviction as she handed over a dozen bags into his waiting arms without hesitation.

He gave a gruff huff of laughter. "Don't think I've been blessed in years, kid. But I appreciate the sentiment." Waving her to the elevator, he called over his shoulder, "I'm gonna take this up for her, Nat. I'll come back in a minute to give you hand."

When she didn’t respond immediately, Clint’s smirk fell from his face. He could read her like a book. She quirked an eyebrow daring him to say something. Daring him to coddle her. He knew that she would bite him like a rabid dog if he tried to offer comfort to her now. Clint only matched the look, making her purse her lips, silently telling him to back off. There was so much they could say to each other without a single word being exchanged.

He took her cue and left, the elevator doors cutting off his concerned gaze. 

Natasha dismissed Happy. Then spent the short minutes until Clint’s return trying to center herself. 

She was Natasha Romanov. She was the Black Widow. She was The Spider. She was a woman forged in fire and ice. Fierce and unapologetic for how she had survived.

Her masks slid easily back into place. Protecting her sensitive skin beneath.

She would acknowledge, if only in her own mind, that she had brought Darcy to those old women because she had wanted the girl to see. She had wanted Darcy to see her without the masks, to see the creature beneath. In defiance, perhaps, of the way Darcy was so accepting. She had been seeking to get some reaction. Anger, or fear, or disgust. Something sharper than the gentle amusement and quiet approval.

Her want had not been satisfied.   

When he returned from helping Darcy, Clint was quick to announce what was on his mind as he helped gather up her purchases. “You like her.”

Natasha neither confirmed nor denied the fact.

“You like her and she thinks you’re awesome,” he continued.

“Excuse me?”

“I did some digging.” Natasha gave her ‘elaborate’ eyebrow raise, the one that meant he was he had seconds to explain before receiving physical reprisal. “I talked to Dr. Foster. Who is surprising forthcoming with information if she’s not actually paying attention. She said that Darcy finds you a bit intimidating but -and I quote- ‘more awesome than Thor’s abs’.”

The thought made the mask she wore twist in a smile. 

It had only been one day but already the Tower was feeling like more than a safe house. The prospect concerned her though fear was strangely absent. At least there was no fear of the Tower’s civilian residences or the security that Tony was providing. There were other things in lurking in the building for her to fear.


End file.
